


No Man's Land

by smuttyandabsurd



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyandabsurd/pseuds/smuttyandabsurd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur scales over the trench to save a horse trapped in no man's land and meets a German soldier.</p>
<p>Prussia/England. War Horse!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Man's Land

**Author's Note:**

> This has probably been done before but I felt the urge to write it. Special thanks to Hollyrose for beta-ing. Hope you enjoy~ ^^/

There was a horse stuck out in no man’s land. 

Arthur Kirkland, aged sixteen, was on guard duty when he spotted it amongst the fallen corpses. He had thought it was a cow at first, but through the binoculars he saw that it was definitely a horse. And it was alive.

Arthur loved animals, and to him there was no question of scaling over the safety of the trenches to save the beast. Ignoring the protests of his comrades, he climbed to the top of the ladder just short of popping up his head, dug out a white handkerchief from his pocket, and waved it frantically above to draw the attention of the Germans.

“Vat do you vant?” one of them demanded. They must have been watching the horse as well; they had not taken long to answer.

“I’m coming up to help the horse, so don’t shoot!” Arthur shouted back. His high voice betrayed his youth and it echoed eerily across the war-torn fields.

There was a pause. Arthur strained to listen for a reply, his heart in his throat. One of his comrades offered him a stick with which to tie on his handkerchief. He knotted it on quickly and raised it as high as he could above the trench.

“Ve’re sending someone too,” the Germans finally replied. It was not a promise not to shoot, but they raised a white flag of their own, and Arthur thought he would take his chances.

Handing his makeshift flag over to his comrades, Arthur crawled up the trench and slowly, very slowly, he rose to his feet. His heart fell back in his chest to hammer against his ribcage and he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Then slowly, very slowly, he crept out into no man’s land.

The walk to the horse was the longest yard of his life. The fog trailed cold clammy tendrils over his hands and face, the only exposed parts of him, and he could hardly hear a thing; the silence swallowed up every sound, even his footsteps. He kept his eyes fixed to the horse, to keep from having to look at the corpses littered on the ground. It meant that he sometimes tripped over them, and once or twice he was sure his feet had gone right through rotting bloated flesh as he felt a sickening, sucking sensation.

He was almost within reach of the horse. It had stopped moving but it was obviously in pain, its breathing laborious. At a few paces from it he broke into a run – and came barrelling straight into a German!

“I’m unarmed, please don’t shoot!” he cried, raising his hands.

“Me neither.”

Arthur blinked. Then he saw that the German was holding a pair of long-handled pliers and not a rifle. The German threw him a smaller pair of the tool which he caught, fumbled, and almost dropped.

“We saw the horse had gotten stuck in our fences. Look.”

Arthur turned to look. The horse was indeed trapped in a web of cruel barbed wires, and he saw there were scratches and puncture wounds where it had caught and torn in its flesh. Arthur felt his heart sink.

“Oh you poor beast,” he whispered. 

He reached for the horse which shrank from him, whinnying and tangling itself further into the trap. Arthur rushed to comfort it. He dropped to the mud beside it, and made shushing noises and clicks of his tongue the way he was used to doing for the farm horses back home. The horse continued to fret and snort, its eyes rolling madly round and round. But it was beginning to calm a little.

“Hold it still, I will cut it out,” the German said.

Arthur stroked gently at the horse’s nose as the German set to work. He picked the worse of the tangles with his hands, adjusted them between the blades of his pliers, and snipped them apart. Arthur did a few he could reach with the small pliers he had been given around the horse’s face and neck.

“Your English is very good,” Arthur said, looking up at the man he had been trying to kill all this time.

The German was very pale, with a strong slim build wasted, it seemed, by the war and poor food rations. He had a pair of bright, quick-moving eyes, and Arthur saw that his pupils were a deep blood red. He had never met an albino before so he was rather taken aback. When the German pulled off his helmet to swipe at his brow, Arthur saw that his hair was an odd colour too; it was pure silver.

“I’ve visited your country,” the German said after snipping off a particularly thick and vicious-looking strand. He looked up at Arthur and smiled. “You have a beautiful country.”

“Thank you,” Arthur mumbled. His mind had conjured the fields of Yorkshire and his heart had clenched with renewed homesickness. He bowed his head. “I’ve… never been to Germany.”

“No?”

_Snip!_ Off came another wire. 

“You should come and visit. It is very beautiful there too.”

The German looked up with a blank haunted look, realising the absurdity of his words. Arthur pretended not to notice. 

“Maybe after the war,” he offered.

The German did not reply.

A sad, contemplative silence descended on the two young boys as they continued to work freeing the horse. When most of the wires had been cut they pulled the mess off the horse, scratching their own hands in the process. Once free, the horse sprang gladly to its feet. Arthur was delighted.

“What are you doing?” the German said, incredulous, as Arthur took the horse’s reins.

“Why, I’m taking it back with me.”

“No you’re not. The horse is coming with me.”

“But it’s a British horse!” Arthur protested, though he was not sure why he was so certain.

The German snorted. “It was freed with German tools, it is German now.”

The German stood squarely between Arthur and the horse with his arms folded across his chest. It was clear he was not going to budge on the issue. Arthur racked his brains for a solution.

“Have you got a coin?” he said at last, rummaging in his pockets. The German blinked.

“Are you suggesting we toss for the horse?”

“Yes.”

It was the fairest way Arthur could think of. For a moment the German looked ready to argue, but he stopped short. Arthur could not find any change on himself so the German produced some. He picked out the largest coin he had and passed it over for Arthur to examine it. Arthur looked it carefully over before giving it back.

“Heads,” he said.

The German nodded. He set the coin in his hand and flipped it spinning into the air. Arthur watched with bated breath as the coin flew up, hung for an agonising moment at the peak of its throw, then fell slowly back to earth. The German snatched it out of it arc and slapped it flat on the back of his white palm.

He lifted his hand, Arthur straining to look at it. Arthur smiled.

“The horse is yours,” the German said with a defeated shrug, and Arthur seized the reins of the horse again. The horse limped obediently over to him as the German pocketed his coin and gathered up his pliers.

“Wait!” Arthur called before the German could leave. 

The German paused.

“My name is Arthur, Arthur Kirkland.” Arthur offered his hand.

The German hesitated.

“Gilbert Weilschmidt,” he returned at last, taking Arthur’s hand.

They shook once. Gilbert’s hand was warm and very firm, and for a moment Arthur thought he never wanted to let go. He felt himself flush with embarrassment. He snatched back his hand.

“Well, I, er… I best get the horse seen to,” he mumbled, looking down.

He turned to leave, leading the horse after him. 

“It was nice to meet you,” Gilbert called after him.

Arthur did not reply.


End file.
